October 29, 2010
The long journey. Part 3.: Fri Sat Sun the 29 30 31th Oct.
In this part of the world you're lucky to find a bikeshop which stocks cycle lube oil in secure resealable miniature bottles. It's more usual instead to find a multi use oil in something with a long nodule that when the tip is cut off, which most be done in order to apply it, you most try and reseal it as best you can preferable rapped in plastic so if it does leak it doesn't all over the inside of the pannier. I had thought I'd gotten round this little problem by unscrewing the whole nodule cap off and carefully pouring the oil the last time I oiled the chain and then screwing the nodule cap back on tight. So I 's surprise this morning, my chain needing oiled after riding on the dusty dirt road yesterday, to find the long nodule thing broken. The oil had all leaked out over my tools and inner-tubes. There was just a drop left in the bottle, enough to oil the chain. In a sentence, it's a workshop oil meant to be set on a shelf not rocking about in a pannier all day.
Again today hills were a major factor. Although on a national road the gradient was quite steep and since setting off from where I'd camped the road when up, every bend I turned revealing yet another long uphill stretch. Soon I could look to the side and look down upon valleys and tabular hills below the road. As the road on the map ran close along the frontier with Argentina, this high ridge the road was now following no doubt was the natural frontier between the two countries. Passing cars and trucks gave me a friendly hoot because of the effort I's putting in.
There was a city, Sao Miguel, which I reached at ten. The thoroughfare through was smooth, the pavement for pedestrians was neat pink tiles and brickwork around flower beds. There was a designated cycle lane and there were lots of people jogging. There was no need to look at the map more than once as there were clear road signs with places that Tallied with places on my map. Also on the signs were Argentina and Foz do Iguazu. Not far now.
Ahead there was no let up in hills. On reaching the top of one, I'd look down a decent to the beginning of the next. There was one positive though, at lease for the moment, it was cool as the sun was blocked out by increasing cloud cover, though that cloud was developing to a dark blue and out to the west I could see that it was already raining. It's always the way isn't it, you oil the chain and it rains washing it off.
The shoulder on the road was far from adequate being half a metre wide in places and mostly having a rough broken surface. It would've been suicidal at times to ride on the road such was the speed and closeness the trucks were passing. Many of the trucks were carrying live pigs and the smell of pig shit lingering in the air was a little overpowering at times.
I stopped by a bus-shelter to quickly pull on my rain-jacket as the first raindrops pelted the road though it soon stopped. Shortly, I reached a service station restaurant seemingly just in time because as I sat down to lunch the rain lashed down bouncing off the forecourt out and drumming on the metal roof above. It wasn't long till trucks on the road could be seen sending up great wakes of spray as they past. The lights in the restaurant would blink and there would be a moments flash of light out followed by a loud rip of thunder as the rain lash down with greater intensity.
I was there until it eased off. I rode on under grey skies, wet shinned puddled road and spray from passing trucks. It didn't hold off long though and soon it was raining persistently. I rode into another service station forecourt to dodge the rain a while. In the shop I empty coins into the palm of my hand to pay for a coffee but I couldn't see as my glasses were all steamed up. The girl behind the counter, when I'd taken them off, took them and cleaned them for me. It's little things like this which make Brazilians such nice people.
I eventually, after riding in awful conditions dodging death as truck after truck past in grey gloom and spray making me close to invisable, reach the edge of the border town where I sat in the cafeteria of another service station for an hour reading waiting out the rain before riding into town to look for a hotel for the night. I rode around the town centre in the dull evening seeing that the border is just at the end of the principal street and I also found a couple of electrical shops but none stocked the international socket adapter I's looking for. One shop had already closed for the night it being 6.30, but the couple that own it were still outside by their car and when I explain what I wanted the man with the keys opens up the shutter a little and the woman crawls in returning a few moments later with a sample of what they had, unfortunately none were right, but yet again it says alot about Brazilians that they reopen the shop.
The hotel I checked into was the only one I'd seen and looked expensive with white marbled reception,light airy plush carpeted wide corridors and comfortable big rooms. At the top of the stairs not far from my room was a printer and a modum router thingy blinking away so I thought wifi access wouldn't be a problem, but, although I got connected I continually saw the NO INTERNET ACCESS message down in the corner of the screen. I spend a long time in the shower enjoying the feel of the hot water and soap as it'd been over a week since my last shower. I awoke next morning to the sound of thunder and rain out. Wondering what time it was I looked at my watch seeing it was just after seven and decided to rest for another while eventually rising at eight. It would be my first hotel breakfast in Brazil and I wasn't disappointed either. There were four difference types of bread not including bread rolls. There were the usual hams and cheeses. Alot of difference fruits. Something that was new though was cake. There was yellow Madeira cake, sponge-cake with icing sugar on top and a big chocolate cake all of which may have been more fitting in a cafe serving afternoon tea. I ate more cake than anything else on offer and had quite a few refills of coffee as well as more orange juice. The bill was 45reals or 26 USD, but don't ask what that is in European currency as maths isn't my forte. In short it's cheap, perhaps 20 Euro.
Before leaving I rinsed out the sweaty clothes I wore all week and packed them wet ready to be hung out on the trailer when the sun returns. The rain had now stopped so I cycled round the corner to an electrical shop that was closed yesterday evening and found the adapter with the right female interface for the pins on my electrical appliances.
Passing through the border, where locals as usual just show an id card, I didn't see any Brazilian Federal Police that check passports and consequently didn't get an exit stamp. Nonetheless the Gendermaria Nacional (national guard) which handle migration on the Argentina side stamped my passport and Is gone. I changed money and rode out of town.
I wasn't sure which road I's on at first leaving town but the surface was excellently smooth and still wet from the morning's rain. After a bit though I saw the kilometre board, Ruta101 Misiones km5, was on it. Misiones, or The Missions so called because of all the jesuit ruins in the area, the Argentinian province Is now in is a small tropical province wedged in between Brazil and Paraguay. It's other claim to fame is Yerba Mate and I'd see plenty plantations as the day wore on of the green plant Argentinians put in mate orbs and fill with hot water from a thermos and suck through a metal straw or bombisha. The main draw to the area though is the waterfalls, Iguassu.
It would remain cloudy the rest of the day. On the map I's now using there was only one town marked on Route 101 and as it was a map for the whole of Argentina there wasn't detail like the distance to Iguassu. 'How long would it take'. I reached the town marked on the map, San Antonio at noon and at the rotunda at the turn-off there was a sign, Puerto Iguazu 110km, so it wasn't far. I, after cycling round a bit and asking at the petrol station found a small place to eat beside the hospital. It really was small with one free table, the only other one had junk piled on it. In the corner a TV was on. The only other person in apart from the owner who was now back in the kitchen cooking steak and chips for me was a local taxi-driver who spoke with great enthusiasm on all things Misiones. He pointed to the TV where local children were speaking Portuguese, 'yes' he stressed most of the children here are Bilingual. 'Ah, those kids are from Santa Catarina, we have a cultural exchange program with Brazil, you know. Ah, that woman is the province's governor' and so on. He got a call, then jumped in the taxi and drove off. Shortly, the steak and chips came so I got stuck in. It was raining again out and when I got up to leave the owner protested 'the weather is bad, there are places to stay in town' But it was only light rain and was soon over.
It was a cool fresh afternoon and the traffic was surprisingly light for such a good road. I sat in a bus-shelter to read a short while in the afternoon but I's disturb by a man that came to wait for a bus. He thought, when I told him, it impossible to cycle to Iguassi saying that this road eventually reverts to a dirt road 'like that over there' he said pointing to a red dusty track running off the other side of the road. He was right. I rode for a couple of hours more to a place called Adressa where Route 101 indeed continued from a rotunda as a red dirt road, but not to despair as there was a paved alternative, Route 19.
Route 19 according to the road sign led to a place called Wanda 68km and Ruta12 69km, then it couldn't, I's thinking, be more than 60km on Route 12 to Puerto Iguazu. But it would be tomorrow when I got there. I continued on thinking that soon I'd have to be looking for a place to camp. The first part of 19 was all Yerba Mate plantations and houses at close intervals. After a few kilometres though the road entered a Provincial Park and there was dense jungle on either side. Ahead I soon saw flashing lights on the road. 'What is this' I think. Closer up I see the lights are on top of orange roadworks cones and then I see the olive green uniforms and vehicle of the Gendermaria Nacional, it's usual that they set up check points in border areas. They checked my passport and a big brown Labrador sniffed at my ankles. They told me, when I inquired, that there was camping at the Park-rangers office and that was 17km. It would take me all my time to get there before dark.
Sure enough it was dark when I got there. The first house in the clearing had a light on but after knocking I looked in the window and saw there was nobody in. I preceded to push my bike up a path through the trees to a second house beyond which there were men sitting round a fire so I began to head for them thinking one was the Park Ranger. But before I knew it the door of the house opened and the Ranger rushed towards me shouting 'who said who say you come up here' I protested there was no one down at the other house.'Don't care do not come here' He quickly calmed down though and led me to where the camping site was telling me all the rules, 'put rubbish in that drum over there, no toilets, go up in the bushes there but most be buried' but he need'n have bothered as I know the rules already.
There was a young backpacking couple that arrived while I's putting the tent up which were the only others there and as I left early in the morning all was quiet. There wasn't a cloud in the sky today so it would turn out warm later. As I'd finished off most of the food I's carrying in my bag, oh, I think since Artigas I's glad to be passing a kiosk at ten where I bough a big sweet dried fruit loaf and a little later found A place to sit down for a real breakfast. The rest of the day I felt tired and I's glad that eleven-hundred kilometres continuously was coming to an end.
Today's ride: 314 km (195 miles)
Total: 5,192 km (3,224 miles)
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